


Cruiser Spooning

by squadrickchestopher



Series: Filthy Porn Fridays [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Car Sex, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Rough Sex, Soft Dom Bucky Barnes, Spanking, Steve Rogers is so done with their shit, Sub Clint Barton, clint barton is not iron fist, cop car shenanigans, that's it that's the whole fic, the police are also done with their shit, they fuck on top of a cop car, use of traffic lights as safewords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:48:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25363390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squadrickchestopher/pseuds/squadrickchestopher
Summary: Bucky looks at the car, and the dent from his metal hand, and starts laughing too. How can they not, really? They’re the Avengers, for fucks sake. They’re supposed to be professional, and helpful, and Bucky just fucked his boyfriend hard enough to set off a goddamn car alarm. On apolice car. In themiddle of a mission.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: Filthy Porn Fridays [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860367
Comments: 23
Kudos: 275
Collections: Clintucky Fried Bunnies





	Cruiser Spooning

**Author's Note:**

> The first installment of Filthy Porn Fridays, brought to you by amazingly hilarious souls of the CFC server. Thank you for the idea and the endless cheering, suggestions, and incoherent screaming in the channel. Love y'all so goddamn much.
> 
> ETA: this fic now comes with [FABULOUS ART](https://feedmecookiesnow.tumblr.com/post/625738531940253696/greyishbobbi-and-magenta-llama-art) please go take a look/reblog/share the amazing talent!

**NOW:**

“You know,” Bucky says. “A disturbing number of our nights end up with us in jail.”

Clint shrugs. “Your point being?”

“I never went to jail before I met you. You’re a bad influence.”

“And _you’re_ a bad liar. I’ve heard of the shit you and Steve got up to.”

“First of all, that was only twice. Second of all, getting into fights in a back alley is not the same as being arrested for public indecency.”

Clint shrugs again, a lazy smile drifting over his face. “Nobody _made_ you bend me over that car, Bucky.”

“You practically dared me to!”

The smile gets wider. “Could’ve said no.”

“I—” Bucky stops, because he’s got a point. He could’ve said no. He _should’ve_ said no. He’s supposed to be the reasonable one between the two of them—a scary thought in itself, really. “Shut the fuck up, Barton.”

Clint bursts out laughing. “Don’t get mad at me for calling you on your bullshit, Barnes.”

“I said, shut the fuck up.”

Clint keeps laughing, looking smug as hell, and so Bucky shuts him up the best way he knows how. He pushes Clint up against the bars, pins his arms above his head, and kisses him.

They stay like that until someone loudly clears their throat behind them. Bucky sighs, and without looking says, “Hi, Steve.”

“You two,” Steve says, sounding furious, “are the bane of my existence.”

“Oooh,” Clint says. “He’s crabby.”

Bucky snorts quietly and turns slightly. “Heyyy,” he says, drawing out the word, trying to sound casual. “Have we got a story for you.”

“Save it,” Steve snaps. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m only here to tell you that you both are in huge trouble, and I’m not bailing you out. Not tonight. You can sit in here and think, and if I’m feeling generous, I _might_ come get you in the morning.”

“Bucky,” Clint says in a stage-whisper. “Don’t look now, but I think we made him angry.”

Bucky snickers, and Steve’s eyes get tight around the corners. “You think this is funny?”

“I think it’s goddamn hilarious,” Clint says. “We’re in jail because my boyfriend fucked me hard enough to set off a car alarm, how is that _not_ funny?”

Steve looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm, so Bucky takes pity on him and covers Clint’s mouth with his other hand. “Are you serious?”

“I’m very serious,” Steve says. “Both of you apparently have trouble getting it through your thick heads that you’re Avengers. Which means you need to act with some iota of self-control. We have a reputation to maintain, and that reputation does _not_ include getting arrested for fucking in an underground police car garage!”

Clint loses it. He makes some kind of high pitched shriek under Bucky’s hand and starts shaking with muffled laughter. Bucky lets go with both hands and he drops to the ground, wheezing as he tries to take in a breath.

“It’s not funny!” Steve insists, and the thin thread of Bucky’s control finally snaps. He starts laughing too, hard enough that he drops onto the floor next to Clint. They lay there together, helplessly giggling every time they make eye contact. By the time they manage to pull themselves together, Steve is long gone, and so is any hope they might have had about getting out of jail tonight.

“I think we fucked up,” Clint says, leaning against the bars as he wipes the tears from his eyes. “But also...worth it.”

“Worth it,” Bucky agrees, sliding an arm around him.

**THREE HOURS EARLIER:**

“It’s dark down here,” Clint whines into the comms. “Bucky.”

“Clint—”

“I stepped in a puddle and now my socks are wet.”

“Clint—”

“I’m pretty sure there’s no bad guys down here, anyway.”

There’s sounds of a scuffle, suddenly, and Bucky turns, night vision goggles scanning the area. “ _Clint_ —”

“Just kidding,” Clint says, a little breathless. “There was one bad guy.” A thud echoes over the comms, and then he says, “ _Now_ there’s no bad guys. No conscious ones, anyway.”

Bucky mutters under his breath and finally locates Clint in the far corner of the parking garage “You okay over there?”

Clint makes a noncommittal noise. “My socks are wet.”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time.”

“Well, you didn’t say anything.”

“I’m busy.” Bucky keeps searching the room, then finally spots what he’s looking for. “Think I found the lights.”

He throws the lever, and sure enough, some overhead fluorescent lights blink on, illuminating the concrete walls of the parking garage. They’re dim, and eerie, and they create more shadows than they really dispel. Over half of them don’t even turn on; they just make a sad attempt at flickering before dying with a series of faint pops. Bucky scowls at them and pulls his goggles off.

“Oh yeah,” Clint says, doing the same. “Great job. Now I can see _everything_.”

“You have an attitude today, you know that?”

“I’m _annoyed_.” Clint leans down and hoists the unconscious guy over his shoulders, then starts walking back towards Bucky. “I can’t believe we’re chasing down a gang of car thieves. This is small time shit.”

“Hey. The police asked for our help. We’re being good, friendly, neighborhood Avengers.”

“Yeah, and now my socks are wet because of it.” Clint dumps the body on the ground and looks down at it, then leans against a nearby patrol car.

“Stop complaining about your damn socks, Barton.” Bucky kneels down and checks the guy’s pulse. It’s slow, but steady. “Why is he unconscious?”

“I...might have hit him with one of my knockout arrows.” Clint shuffles his feet a little, then says, “In my defense, he pulled a gun on me.”

Bucky sighs. “Well, I guess he’ll be easier to bring in this way.”

“Exactly.” Clint taps his head. “Planning ahead, that’s my style.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Shut it, Barnes.” Clint nudges the guy with his foot, then leans over and slides something out of his pocket. “Hey, look.” He waves a wallet at Bucky. “Pizza for dinner? It’s on our friendly car thief here.”

Bucky snatches it from his hands. “Put that back and stop tainting our good deeds with petty thievery.”

Clint snickers. “Have you met me? Petty thievery is how I live my life.” He grabs it back. “This guy made me run, Bucko. You know I hate it when criminals run.”

“And you know how much I hate that name,” Bucky says, grabbing his wrist. “Give it to me.”

“Nope.” Clint tosses the wallet to his other hand, twisting easily out of Bucky’s grasp and moving to the other side of the police car. “Come on, we earned it.”

“We’re not stealing this guy’s money. I don’t care how awful he is.” Bucky holds his hand out. “Give it to me, now.”

Clint grins at him. It’s one of Bucky’s favorites, that brilliant smile edged with mischievousness and a hint of trouble. “And if I don’t?” he asks, voice low and filthy. “What are you gonna do, arrest me?”

Bucky looks at him, then at the squadron of police cars surrounding them. He looks back at Clint and raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I mean,” Clint says, tossing the wallet from hand to hand. “You’ll have to catch me first.”

“I thought you hated running.” Bucky steps around the car, and Clint moves back.

“I hate chasing bad guys. I don’t mind _being_ the bad guy.” He wiggles the wallet in the air, smirking as Bucky moves closer. “What’s the matter, afraid you can’t catch me?”

“Of course I can catch you,” Bucky says. “I’m just trying to spare your pride.”

“We’ll see,” Clint says, and he darts away.

Bucky lunges after him. “You little—”

Clint laughs and ducks his swiping hand. “Missed me, bitch.”

“You realize you’re only making it worse for yourself, right?”

“You realize I’m into that, right?”

Bucky reaches for him again, and he dodges, vaulting over the trunk of a nearby cruiser. “You are _so_ going to get it.”

“Promises, promises,” Clint taunts, climbing onto the roof of another one. “Gotta catch me first.” He steps over the lights on the top and unstraps his quiver, dropping it by his feet, adding his bow and his night vision goggles on top of it. “Like a Pokemon, but cooler.”

“I don’t know what that is.” Bucky pulls off his own goggles and tosses them up.

“I’ll show you later.” Clint casually backflips off the car, landing on the other side. “So?”

“Get _back_ here.”

A chase ensues. Clint’s faster than him, always has been, and he takes full advantage of that, ducking and weaving through the squadron of police cars. Bucky stalks him slowly, waiting for him to tire himself out. Waiting for an opening.

It comes a few minutes in. Clint tries to go left when he should’ve gone right, and Bucky can see the instant he realizes the mistake. His eyes go wide as Bucky moves in, spinning him face-first into the wall and pinning both arms behind his back.

“I let you do that,” Clint says instantly.

“Sure you did,” Bucky murmurs, mouth right next to Clint’s ear. He drops his voice a little, adds a darker tone to it, and grins as Clint shivers underneath him. “Face it, sweetheart. I’m just better than you.” He shifts the grip to his left hand, and reaches into his pocket with the other.

“You are not—” Clint starts, then freezes as a loud click echoes through the air. “What the fuck, are those handcuffs?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, locking his other wrist up. “One of the officers loaned them to me. For our car thieving bad guy.” He tugs the cuffs. “Good thing, too. Apparently there’s a whole bunch of criminals in the area tonight.”

He pulls Clint away from the wall and marches him over to a nearby cruiser, pushing him down over the hood. “Got any weapons on you I should know about?”

“So many,” Clint says, squirming underneath him. “Not gonna tell you where, though.” He turns his head and flashes a dirty smile.

“Guess I’m gonna have to search you,” Bucky says, faux-regretful. “Alright, then.” He taps Clint’s leg with his foot. “Spread ‘em.” Clint moves his legs wider, and Bucky pushes him a little further up onto the hood, until he’s almost on his tip-toes. “There you go.”

“You know I can get out of these, right?” Clint asks, wiggling his fingers.

“Sure you can,” Bucky says. “But you’re not going to.” He leans forward, pressing his weight into Clint, pinning him into the car. “Because you’re being a good boy for me, right?”

Clint shivers again, practically melting under his touch. “Yes,” he says, and his voice gets a little breathier. “I’m good. I can be good.”

“That’s right,” Bucky says, straightening up. “I know you can. Prove it to me.”

He lets his fingers trail down Clint’s back, just barely skimming under the waistband of his pants. Clint lets out a high-pitched little whine and shifts slightly, feet skidding for purchase on the floor. “ _Bucky_.”

“Easy, baby. Just checking for weapons.” He slides his hand under Clint’s shirt, pressing the cool metal against his heated skin. Then he kneels down, wrapping his other hand around Clint’s ankle. “Got a knife down here?”

“Two,” Clint says, squirming again until Bucky’s hand presses down in warning.

“Armed and dangerous,” Bucky murmurs, pulling them out of the ankle sheath. “I like that in a man.” He sets them to the side and slides his hand up Clint’s leg, pausing at the holster strapped to his thigh. “And a gun here, I see.”

“Very armed, very dangerous,” Clint says. “You should keep looking.”

“Telling me how to do my job, sweetheart?” Bucky keeps moving up, palming Clint’s ass over his pants. “Best be careful, or that mouth’s gonna get you in trouble.”

“Promises, promises,” Clint says, and Bucky slaps his ass. Clint lets out a strangled noise and drops his forehead down, hitting the hood with a quiet _thunk_.

“Been keeping track, you know,” Bucky says conversationally, hand soothing over the stinging spot. “Of all the sassy things you’ve said to me today.”

“Y-yeah?”

“Up to ten, now.”

“Is that all?”

Bucky smacks him again, the sharp sound of it echoing through the parking garage. “Making it worse,” he reminds him.

“Into that,” Clint shoots back. He turns his head enough to make eye contact. “So what’re you gonna do about it?”

“If we were at home, I’d put you over my knee,” Bucky says. “But since we’re here...” He tugs at the waistband of Clint’s pants. “I think I’ll get these out of the way and just do it right here.”

“Kinky,” Clint says, grinning at him. “What if someone comes down here?”

“Should’ve thought about that earlier,” Bucky murmurs, leaning forward. “Because you’ve been asking for this _all_ day.” He gently traces his mouth over Clint’s ear. “What do you say if you need me to stop?”

“Red,” Clint says. “Yellow to slow down.”

“And what are you now?”

“ _So_ green.”

Bucky nods. “Good boy,” he says, and kneels down again, running his hand up Clint’s other leg. “Any weapons on this side I should know about?”

“No, sir,” Clint says, and Bucky feels a heat spread through him, drawing an involuntary noise from the back of his throat.

He loves to do this—hold Clint down, get him worked up, make him go to pieces under his touch—but he always manages to forget that Clint knows how to push his buttons too, and it’s like a rush every time.

He hooks his fingers into Clint’s pants and tugs them down as far as they can go, then chuckles. “You have something against underwear, sweetheart?”

“Laundry day,” Clint says. “Also, you stole my last clean pair, so it’s your fault anyway.”

“Mmm.” Bucky stands up, flattening his hand against Clint’s back, rubbing his thumb in a soothing circle. “Ready?”

“You gonna do it or— _ahhhh_ —” He cuts off with a yelp as Bucky’s other hand comes down with a _crack_ , instantly leaving a red mark on his pale skin.

“Twelve of them,” Bucky says. “And you’re gonna count every single one.”

“I thought it was only ten?”

Bucky smacks him again, the other side this time. “And every time you sass me, that number goes up,” he says. “So now it’s twelve. _Count_.”

“Two,” Clint says, his voice already trembling.

“Good boy.” Bucky does it again, smirking as Clint lets out another yelp. “And that one?”

“Fuck, ow. Three.”

Another hit, another trembling count. Bucky rubs his hand over the marks, soothing the stinging into more of a deep burn, letting Clint catch his breath. “Doing so good for me,” he murmurs. “Markin’ up so pretty, too.”

He aims the next one a little lower, almost on his thigh, and Clint’s feet scrabble against the concrete like he’s trying to push himself further up the car. “Fuck!”

Bucky pauses. “Color?”

“Fuck,” Clint says again, and takes a shuddering breath. “Five. Green.”

Bucky nods. He wants to ask again, but he also trusts Clint, trusts him to safeword out if he needs it. So he just leans down and presses a gentle kiss to Clint’s head. “Good, baby. You’re doing _so_ good. Taking it so well for me.”

Clint lets out a little whimper at the words and nods. “Green,” he whispers. “Bucky, _please_.”

Bucky’s never been able to say no to him. He obliges, laying down another hit, reveling in the dragged-out moan it gets him and the way Clint pushes back against his hold. “Count for me, Clint.”

“Six. That’s six.” His voice is thick with tears, and he blinks rapidly.

“That’s right.” Bucky surveys the series of red handprints on Clint’s ass. “You look gorgeous like this, you know. Could look at this all goddamn day.”

“I like it,” Clint murmurs, sniffling a little. “Being good for you.”

“I know you do.” Bucky spanks him again, and he _whines_ the number, arching into the touch. “I know.” He lays down two more in quick succession, and Clint yells, feet slipping on the concrete again. “ _Count_. I’m not reminding you again.”

“Nine,” Clint gasps. “Jesus, _fuck_. Eight, nine.”

“Three more,” Bucky says, giving him a break as he soothes the irritated skin. Clint pants underneath him, both pushing into and twisting away from his touch. Bucky chuckles and tightens his grip, pinning him harder against the car before delivering another smack. “Going somewhere, sweetheart?”

Clint shudders hard. “No.” He drags in a deep breath, then adds, “Ten.”

“Good.” Bucky takes a moment to adjust his own pants. He’s hard enough to pound nails, erection straining against the fabric, but he wants to see this through first. Watching Clint turn into a sobbing, sensitive mess is his favorite thing in the entire world, and he doesn’t want to miss a second of it. “Look at you, sweet boy. Two more. God, you’re beautiful.”

Clint makes some sort of strangled noise and tilts his head back, meeting Bucky’s eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but it’s clear what he’s thinking. It’s written all over his face, plain as day.

“You _are_ ,” Bucky says fiercely. “Most beautiful goddamn thing I’ve ever seen.” He spanks Clint again, waits for him to stutter out _eleven_ , then pulls him upright into a filthy kiss. “I’m in charge here,” he says, breaking it off as Clint gasps against him. “Right?” Clint nods. “So what I say goes. And I say you’re beautiful, and I’ll say it over and over again until you believe me.”

He lays down one last hit, grinning as Clint jumps. “There. All done.”

“Twelve,” Clint agrees, dropping his head to Bucky’s shoulder. “ _Ow_.”

“Color?”

“Green.” He’s still crying, tears soaking into Bucky’s shirt, but his voice is steadier. “Now what?”

Bucky snorts. “What, you want more?”

He shakes his head. “Bein’ good.”

“Yeah, you are.” Bucky reaches between them, gives his cock a few lazy strokes. Clint twitches, moaning into Bucky’s shoulder. “So good.” He turns his head and presses a kiss to Clint’s hairline. “You want the cuffs off?”

Clint shakes his head again.

Bucky smiles. “What do you want, then?”

Clint sniffles, then moves back, balancing on unsteady legs. “Fuck me?” he asks

“Right here?” Clint nods. “Right on this cruiser?” Another nod. “Okay, baby. I can do that.”

Clint smiles, and on impulse Bucky tugs him into a kiss. Not as heated as the other one, just a gentle reassurance. “I love you,” Bucky tells him.

“I know.” Clint tries for a smirk. The effect is a little ruined by the shine of tears in his eyes, but Bucky appreciates the effort. “I’m a goddamn delight.”

“You’re a goddamn brat,” Bucky says fondly, and nudges him back down over the hood of the cruiser. “I don’t suppose we have—”

“Left pocket,” Clint says, and sure enough, Bucky digs out a little bottle of mango-flavored lube. He can’t help laughing when he sees it, and Clint turns enough to grin at him. “What? I’m prepared.”

“I adore you,” Bucky says, kneeling behind him. “Stay.” He slides both hands down to Clint’s ass, gently skimming over the red marks. “Love this,” he says reverently. “Love how good you mark up for me. Wish you could see it.” He leans forward.

The first touch of his tongue makes Clint jerk in surprise, and his fingers flex in the cuffs. “Oh god,” is all he says, and Bucky chuckles.

“More?”

“Yes,” Clint says. “Fuck, yes.”

“How do you ask nicely?”

“Yes, please?”

“Better,” Bucky says. “Much better.” He pours some lube on his fingers and slides one in, relishing in the punched-out moan that Clint makes. “Keep doing that, baby. Love it when you get loud for me.”

Clint gives him a breathless _uh-huh_ and tries to get his legs wider. Bucky thinks briefly about stopping to take the pants off, but then he slides in a second finger and Clint _yells_ , back arching as he rocks back into it.

Bucky swats his leg. “Stay still,” he orders. “You’ll get what I give you, when I decide to give it.”

Clint mutters something that vaguely sounds like _ohgodokaygreen_.

“Good boy,” Bucky says, and leans forward, teasing his tongue around where his fingers are steadily moving. The mango lube is...less than appealing, but the way Clint is trying to keep himself under control more than makes up for it. He’s sobbing again, muscles shaking as he visibly forces himself to hold still.

_Beautiful_ , Bucky thinks hazily, watching Clint come apart with every lap of his tongue, every tiny twist of his fingers. _How’d I get so fucking lucky?_

“You look so good,” he says, twisting his wrist and hitting _just_ the right spot. “Could do this all damn day, really.”

“Fuck me,” Clint gasps, voice hitching in his chest.

“I don’t know,” Bucky says, even though he’s absolutely dying for it, wants nothing more than to get his damn pants out of the way and bury himself in Clint. Wants to feel the tight grip of him around his aching cock. “I like this. You all stretched out and moaning, and—”

“Jesus Christ, Bucky, _please_ —”

The _please_ is what gets him. Barely a word, more of a breathless sob, it shatters right through Bucky’s waning self-control like a bullet through glass, smashing it to pieces. “Okay,” he says—growls, really—and pulls his fingers out, hands fumbling at his belt. “Okay, sweetheart. I got you.”

“Please,” Clint whines again, and pushes his hips back. “I want it, I want you in me, Bucky, please, please—”

Bucky slicks some lube along his cock, trying to ignore how good it feels to finally touch himself. He’s usually so in control for this—so focused on making Clint feel good that he doesn’t think about his own needs—but everything about this is pushing him to the edge. The way Clint is begging, the handcuffs, the fact that they’re in a goddamn police garage and someone could walk in at any minute—

“ _Bucky_ ,” Clint says, wriggling underneath him, and Bucky shushes him, rubbing a steady hand up his back.

“I got you, sweetheart,” he says again. “Hold still for me, there you go...”

He sinks into Clint’s ass with a quiet groan, sliding slow and steady until he’s completely in, hips pressed to Clint’s heated skin. Clint jerks a little at the contact, but when Bucky starts to move back, he makes a short protest and shakes his head.

“Green,” he says. “I like it.”

“Yeah?” Bucky leans against him, and Clint lets out a sharp noise. “Like that?”

“Yes. Green,” Clint says again, flexing his fingers in the cuffs.

Bucky gently massages his arms, grinning at the way Clint is squirming under him. “Thought I told you to hold still, doll.”

“Fuck me,” Clint demands, shoving his hips back, and Bucky bites off his own moan.

“Brat,” he says, laying a light swat against the already-reddened skin. “Just for that, I’m not gonna touch you at all.” He slides back slowly, rubbing his thumb over where Clint is stretched out around his cock.

Clint makes a questioning sound that turns into a moan, twitching and shuddering as Bucky keeps moving his thumb. “What?”

“Not gonna touch you,” Bucky says again. “You’re gonna come just from me fucking you, or you’re not gonna come at all.” He punctuates this with a shallow thrust forward, laughing as Clint tries to apologize and moan and yelp in surprise all at the same time.

“Bucky,” Clint whines when he gets his breath back. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll be good, please touch me.”

“I’ll think about it,” Bucky says. “If you behave yourself.”

Clint mumbles something and drops his head on the hood again. Bucky leans forward, holding himself up so he doesn’t put too much pressure on Clint. “But I know you can do it,” he says. “We both know you can.” He sucks a bruising kiss on Clint’s neck. “Because I told you to. And you always do what I tell you to do.”

Clint drags in a long breath. “I can be good,” he says, sounding like he’s convincing himself more than Bucky. “I can—I can be good.”

“Yeah, you can,” Bucky says, kissing the tense line of his shoulder. “You always are for me.”

Clint shudders at the words, going loose and languid underneath him, and Bucky pushes himself upright. “Gonna fuck you now,” he says. “Hard. It’s gonna hurt a little. You know what to do if it’s too much.”

“Red or yellow,” Clint confirms.

Bucky nods. “Good boy,” he says, and starts moving. He’s not nice about it, fucking into him with a rough rhythm that has Clint going “ _Ah-ah-ah_ ,” every time Bucky brushes against the sensitive skin of his ass. Bucky slides his hands around Clint’s hips, hikes him up a little higher, aiming for—

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ!” Clint yells, pulling hard against the handcuffs, and Bucky feels a predatory grin spread across his face as he watches those muscled forearms flex.

“There we go,” he grunts, speeding up, nailing the same spot every thrust. “That’s what you need, right?”

Clint’s not really saying words anymore, it’s just a garbled stream of _oh god_ and _please Bucky_ and _more more_ , and it’s the hottest thing Bucky’s ever heard in his fucking life. He’s not gonna last long, not like this, not with the way Clint is tensing and shuddering and shaking underneath him.

“Come on, babe,” he grits out, feeling the car shake underneath them, something that would amuse him if he had the brainpower for it. “Come on. Come for me. You can do it.” He reaches forward, winds his fingers into Clint’s hair, tugs back sharply.

Clint’s fingers tense into fists, and he yells again, arching up with the pressure of Bucky’s hand. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” he gasps out, eyes flying open. “Oh fuck, _Bucky_...”

That’s it, Bucky’s gone. He slams his left hand on the car, digging in with his fingers, hearing the screech of metal on metal as he slams his hips forward, once, twice—

At first he thinks the shrieking alarm is in his head, a blaring siren as his orgasm rips through him, wrecking him completely from his toes upward. He gasps in a breath and falls forward, biting at the straining muscles of Clint’s shoulder, shuddering as his brain fucks off into outer space, leaving him loose and boneless and floating on a wave of endorphins.

It’s not until an eternity later that he registers that no, that _is_ in fact an actual car alarm, and it’s coming from the cruiser they’re currently defiling.

Underneath him, Clint is shaking. Bucky pushes himself up on his own trembling arms. “Hey,” he says, pitching his voice to be heard over the alarm. “You okay?”

Clint opens his eyes and looks up at him. “Car...alarm...” he manages, and then just _loses_ it in a fit of hysterical giggling.

Bucky looks at the car, and the dent from his metal hand, and starts laughing too. How can they not, really? They’re the Avengers, for fucks sake. They’re supposed to be professional, and helpful, and Bucky just fucked his boyfriend hard enough to set off a goddamn car alarm. On a _police car_. In the _middle of a mission_.

He doesn’t have the energy or brainpower to move, so he just stays where he is, tucked up against Clint and helplessly laughing. As soon as one of them gets it together, the other one starts again, a vicious cycle that leaves him breathless, abs aching.

Reality comes back at the point of a gun. Five of them, to be exact, held by five of New York’s finest, who apparently don’t think this is amusing at _all_. One of them opens the door and turns off the alarm, allowing blessed silence to settle in the garage.

“Who the fuck are you?” one of them asks. “How the fuck did you get down here?”

Bucky opens his mouth to answer, then starts laughing again. He hasn’t even pulled out yet, he’s still inside Clint, still pinning him to the hood of the car.

“ _Stop_ it,” the officer says, and that just makes it worse. “Stop it!”

“It’s okay,” Clint finally wheezes out, turning to face him. He takes a couple deep breaths, then in a barely-held-together voice says, “I’m an Avenger?”

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Bucky says, and loses himself in another fit of laughter.

“Alright,” the officer snaps. “Both of you. Get up. Come on.” He grabs Bucky’s arm and pulls him off Clint. “Fix your goddamn pants, come on.”

Bucky tugs his pants back up, gritting his teeth to keep himself together as he buckles his belt. “C’mere,” he murmurs, pulling Clint up. “I’ll help you.”

“Appreciate it,” Clint says. He looks over Bucky’s shoulder at the stony faces watching them, and flashes a bright grin. “Hey, at least I’m already in handcuffs, right? Makes your job easier.”

Bucky drops his head onto Clint’s shoulder, hands pausing. “ _Stop_ it,” he says, shaking with barely suppressed laughter. “Stop it right the fuck now, we’re in _trouble_.”

“There’s a guy over here!” someone else yells, and Bucky turns to see the officer pointing a gun at the still-motionless body of the car thief.

“Oh yeah,” Clint says. “There’s the bad guy you wanted. You’re welcome.”

The officer looks both confused _and_ irritated now, which is not necessarily a great combination when paired with a gun. “What? Who the fuck are you?”

“I told you,” Clint says. “We’re Avengers.”

The officer looks him up and down, clearly skeptical. “Iron Fist?”

“ _Why_ —” Clint starts, sounding helplessly outraged, and Bucky has to turn away, covering his mouth so he can keep himself together.

“Yeah,” he says after a moment, trying to school his face into something appropriate. “He’s Iron Fist. You’re right.”

“Uh-huh,” the officer says, looking skeptical. “And you are?”

“Captain America,” Bucky says, as serious as he can manage, and Clint actually staggers, dropping down to the ground as he tries to breath and laugh and say something all at the same time.

“Get the fuck up,” the officer snaps, dragging Clint off the concrete. “Cuff that one, take them upstairs and book them. Have the captain call the Avengers, get this shit sorted out.” He looks over at the car thief. “Him too, I guess.”

They slap cuffs on Bucky and march both of them to the elevator, shoving them inside when the doors open. Bucky turns until he’s next to Clint, who is doing his best not to make eye contact.

“Hey,” he mutters, leaning forward. “Clint.”

“What?” Clint hisses back, clearly fighting back a grin.

“How mad do you think Steve’s gonna be?”

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Clint says, and he loses it all over again.

**NOW:**

“He left,” Clint says, when they’ve pulled themselves back together after Steve’s visit. “I don’t think he’s coming back.”

“He might leave us here forever,” Bucky agrees. “Do you think he’s more mad I gave them his name, or about the whole thing?”

“Probably the name,” Clint says with a grin. “Defiling the good clean name of Captain America and all.”

Bucky snorts. “He’s not a fucking choir boy. Man’s dirtier than the rest of us put together.”

“ _You_ know that, and _I_ know that, but the rest of America does not.” Clint stretches, and Bucky’s eyes go to the marks around his wrist.

“Hey,” he says, suddenly realizing. “Are you okay?”

Clint tilts his head. “My ass hurts,” he says, giving Bucky a flirtatious wink. “But otherwise, yeah. I’m fine. Why?”

“We got interrupted,” Bucky says. “I was gonna take care of you. I’m sorry.”

Clint looks confused for a moment, and then his eyes light in understanding. “Oh,” he says. “No, I’m okay. I promise. No drop or anything.” Bucky starts to say something, and Clint puts a finger over his mouth. “Hush. It’s good. I’m just tired.”

“Are you sure?”

“All green,” Clint assures him, leaning over to give him a kiss. “I promise.”

“Okay,” Bucky says. “We _should_ sleep, though. I’m pretty sure we’re spending the night here.”

Clint looks around the dank little holding cell. “Oh no,” he says. “There’s only _one_ bed.”

Bucky looks at it. “That does seem to be the case.”

“We’re gonna have to share,” Clint says. “What a _shame_.”

“A travesty,” Bucky agrees, getting to his feet. “Shall we?”

“Definitely.”

They get into the narrow bunk, Bucky putting his back to the bars. “C’mere,” he says, and Clint crawls in next to him, tangling their legs together and scooting forward until his face is pressed into Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky tugs him in close, placing a soft kiss on his hair. “Love you,” he murmurs.

“Love you too,” Clint says. Then he shifts a little, enough that Bucky can catch a glimpse of his face. “Hey. Bucky.”

“What, sweetheart?”

“Remember how we got the alarm to go off?”

“Vividly.”

“Next time, we should try and get the siren too.” He grins up at Bucky, making the words a challenge. A dare.

Bucky’s always been good at dares.

“We’ll do our best,” he promises.

“Awesome,” Clint says, closing his eyes with a smile. “Looking forward to it.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr!](https://feedmecookiesnow.tumblr.com/)


End file.
